The Detective Cooks
by Eona
Summary: John wakes up and smells food being cooked in the apartment. Will this turn out to be an adorable gesture, or a disastrous mess? Johnlock. Fluff. One-shot. Rated T for safety.


Summary: John wakes up and smells food being cooked in the apartment. Will this turn out to be an adorable gesture, or a disastrous mess? Fluff. Johnlock. Rated T for safety.

Disclaimer: If I _did_ own any of the characters involved in Sherlock, it would have all just have turned into porn by now. So, yeah.

Please read and review. :)

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John woke in Sherlock's bed with circles under his eyes. Sherlock, his... his... boyfriend (John still had a hard time thinking the word, especially in the context of Sherlock Holmes), had kept him up all night with things which made John red in the face when he thought of them. The flatmates had been dating for nearly 2 weeks now, although really there was no point in assigning an official date to it; everyone had always assumed they were together anyway.

A warm, appetizing scent drew John away from his ruminations. Getting dressed, he tried to pinpoint from what the delicious aroma had originated. _ Someone must have made omelets_, he thought to himself cheerily at first. But no, John could barely force Sherlock to eat, let alone cook. _Sherlock's cooking would be simply frightening,_ he chuckled. He had finally come to the conclusion that the scent must have come from Mrs. Hudson's apartment downstairs when he exited their now-shared bedroom and found Sherlock in the kitchen, wearing his bathrobe and bent over a pan on the stove.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing? You're going to start a fire!" he cried, alarmed.

That's when John finally took in all of what was going on in front of him. Lying on the dinner table, which was usually reserved for Sherlock's experiments, were several dozen plates under heat lamps. On closer inspection, he realized that each plate held an egg, and that every egg was cooked slightly differently. Some were scrambled, others were fried. Some were mixed with cheese and ham, while others were plain. Beside Sherlock, the counter was littered with what John figured must be the refuse of Sherlock's cooking. Sure enough, in the sleuth's wake were empty egg cartons, half-full boxes of milk, and cutting boards next to knives that John suspected had never been meant for use in the kitchen.

On Sherlock's Clipboard-For-The-Recording-Of-Experiments, which was suspended by nail in the wall, John spotted a chart ready to receive Sherlock's findings regarding John's favourite way of eating his eggs.

Sherlock looked up with a blank expression, and the blogger backtracked quickly. "Oh. Oh god. Are you... Cooking for me?" He asked carefully.

Sherlock looked back down and made an annoyed sarcastic comment. At least, anybody else would have perceived it as such. John knew Sherlock better than did anyone else, save perhaps Mycroft. And right now John knew that Sherlock was hurt.

The blogger approached his partner cautiously. Some days, Sherlock shied away from physical contact, and it could be difficult to gauge his mood. Today he appeared fine though, and so John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist, putting his own head against the taller man's chest.

"Thank you, Sherlock. I appreciate it, and I'm sorry I upset you."

"I'm not upset," he replied defensively.

"Okay." But nonetheless Sherlock nuzzled his face into John's shoulder for comfort.

After they stood there for a minute, John slowly moved his head so that it was even with Sherlock's, and gently pushed his own mouth against his lover's. The sleuth put his arms around John's waist and, deepening the kiss, pulled his shirt slightly up so that several inches of bare skin was exposed. Sherlock felt John through the material separating their hips, and chuckled.

"Shall we continue this in the bedroom?" he asked John, and proceeded to be dragged down the hall to an area where they could conduct their business more privately.

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When they finished, they were both lying in bed, panting. John kissed Sherlock lightly on the cheek, and whispered, "You know, I wasn't lying when I said I appreciated the eggs. Although, you could have just asked how I liked them."

"Yes, but that would have been _boring,_" chuckled Sherlock as he returned the gentle kiss.

THE END


End file.
